


Satan's Son

by sifshadowheart



Series: Prologue Crossover Challenge [3]
Category: Charmed (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Harry, Canon Het Relationship, Cole Lives, Drake Lives, F/M, Fatherly various demons/Harry relationship, Grey Harry, Harry has demonic mentors, M/M, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Death offers his Master a way to escape from the forces controlling him in the wizarding world only for Harry to land in another magical universe that is possibly even more dangerous than his own.





	1. Prologue

** Satan’s Son **

**A Harry Potter/Charmed Crossover**

**_Author’s Note:_ ** _This is number three of the many crossovers I managed to make happen from the same prologue challenge.  This story features a massive time-jump midway through, just as a heads-up._

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Charmed are both the properties of their respective owners and no profit was made by the writer of this fanfiction.

**Prologue:**

**A Very Harry Happening**

“Please tell me I’m actually dead this time.”

Harry’s voice came out in a deadpan as he opened his eyes in an all-too-familiar location.

He hadn’t been back to Platform 9 ¾ since leaving for his final (eighth) year of Hogwarts.

There was no need, as he had neither friends at the ancient school nor any children to send off.  Though he supposed Teddy was almost there, but it wasn’t yet September and that nightmare of first-year anxiety was months away.  Andromeda would handle most of it, as she’d done with the rest of the day-to-day of raising his godson/her grandson.  But Harry would still be the one the young Lupin would lean on for those first-day jitters.

Well.

He would have been.

But being a Hit Wizard wasn’t exactly all sunshine and roses, and Harry had already beaten the odds more than once.

Moreover, he’d recognized that sickly-purple spell the newest wave of wizarding-cult-followers had shot at him.  Hell.  He’d used the _Sectumsempra_ enough in the line of duty.

He’d felt it hit across his upper chest and neck.

He’d felt himself get cold and his vision – finally corrected after reaching his majority and being able to request and pay for the expensive potion – fade out.

Harry had died.

Again.

Though maybe this time it would take, even if it would leave behind a grieving Teddy.

Harry didn’t try and fool himself.

After he’d thrown off everyone’s expectations, taking up his seats in the Wizengamot and going after his Inheritance that everyone had somehow neglected to mention *cough, Dumbledore, cough, Weasleys, cough*, not many people would miss him other than his godson.

He imagined that even Andromeda, stern matriarch that she was, would only miss having his support and more importantly his name to throw around, more than him himself.

No.

Going back to Hogwarts, not what the Ministry wanted or the public expected, but still within the “allowable” realm of behavior.

Accepting all his vaults, his titles, and his responsibilities, well, it wasn’t what anyone wanted for him, per se, but it wasn’t beyond the pale either.

It was when he entered Hit Wizard training instead of Auror Academy that people started to twitch.

Harry was already considered volatile, powerful, and somewhat dangerous.

Joining the ranks of witches and wizards who were the Wizarding World’s version of Special Forces crossed with MI6…that started up a tone of concern, though it was levied in part that as a Hit Wizard he was ostensibly under the aegis of the Ministry and all-was-still-well.

It was also the first real strike against the tidy “plan” that had been set in motion for his life, ever since he was born and likely before he was even conceived.

The Wizarding World liked things neat and tidy in their little labeled boxes.

Potters were Aurors.

Malfoys were Politicians.

Blacks were eccentric (or flat-out crazy) Nobles.

And so on, into infinity.

But Harry bucked centuries of tradition and went into the more dangerous field of being a Hit Wizard, which carried with it a ten-year expiration date: either you died before then (which was ninety percent of them) or you retired and either taught the oncoming young-bloods or transferred into the DMLE either as an administrator of some kind or as an Auror.

Harry’s ten-year mark was coming up soon, and he’d made it despite curses, hexes, vampires (and wasn’t that a fun case…) and now this new muggleborn-driven cult that wanted, irony of ironies, to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and usher in a world where wizard kind were benign rulers.

This shit just never ended.

It simply changed faces.

He could almost hear Tom laughing from the gates of Hell where he was no doubt waiting for Harry to show up.

Harry had no illusions about himself.  Not anymore.  He might’ve made a middling-to-good godfather when he wasn’t dodging curses or blood-sucking-fiends, but he also killed his first man at the age of eleven and thereafter never really…stopped.

Oh, there were lulls, and sometimes it was creatures that he ended up ending instead of people, but it was as if once his heart got a taste of death it never forgot it – or how easy it was to dole it out.

He had a survival instinct that was, even he could admit, second to none, surviving things that would have killed anyone else.

And this time that survival instinct was screaming at him that he’d finally failed to listen to it in time.

Most of all…Harry was just tired.

Not so much of his job, he’d been damn good as a Hit Wizard, nor of his role as godfather though he was glad that he’d got to at least spend the last ten years with Teddy.

But tired, oh yes, he was tired of other things.

Tired of the expectations of him to finally “settle down” with an appropriate witch and start popping out litters of mini-Prongslets, especially with his retirement from active duty Hit Wizard coming up.

Tired of having to explain, again, that no, he wasn’t interested in Ginny for the five-thousandth-time when he went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

Tired of Hermione trying to use him name and influence to direct the Wizarding World.

Tired of Ron trying to use their shared adventures to advance his Auror career.

Tired of being seen as everyone’s favorite bankroll, after all, it wasn’t like he had any family to spend his galleons on, Harry.

Just tired of all the bullshit.

And now, unless this was a potions-induced psychotropic trip, he could finally rest.

Sighing, he blinked his eyes in the wake of the glowing-white-haze the Platform was covered in and wearily climbed to his feet, absently noticing that like his previous visit he was wearing the same clothes as he remembered before taking the death-blow but clean, though this time it was his Hit Wizard wear of gunmetal-grey Horntail dragonhide trousers, boots, and gloves matched with a goblin-forged steel-mail undershirt topping a soft cotton undervest and topped in turn by a wool long-sleeved tunic in dove grey, a basilisk-hide sleeveless dueling robe that had a hood and dropped to the top of his knee-high boots thrown over it all.  On the left side of his tunic was his rank as a Hit Wizard, no surprise that after nearly a decade in the field, it was of a Field Commander, the words embroidered in the same venom-green of his basilisk robe, with his rather deceptive call sign: Raven, under it and the nine gunmetal-grey stars that signified each year of service.

His wand was missing from Horntail-hide holster on his right arm, having been dropped when he, well, died, but he felt the comforting weight of his favorite knife still tucked inside his left boot.

“Sorry, son.”  He heard from behind him the voice was soothing and gentle but with an underlying rasp, Harry turning to face the speaker, one he didn’t think he’d ever met before in his life…unlike last time.  “But far be it for Death to forsake His Master in such a way.”

“Merlin.”  He cursed, rubbing at his tired emerald green eyes.  “For once I wish it wasn’t me.”

Harry eyed the other man – if a man at all was what the other figure was.  He was…utterly normal in just about every way.  Harry knew operatives on the muggle side of things that would kill to have his seeming blandness, that ability to be everyone and no one all at once.  Grey hair, a sober face that was handsome but not overly or memorably so, soft grey eyes, and dressed in a muggle suit in black with a mandarin collar, there was nothing remarkable about him not his looks, his middling height, nothing.

Nothing at all, save his voice that had a resonance that struck at the very heart of Harry.

“But it is you.”  Death said, folding his hands elegantly before him, watching Harry with a sort of paternal pride and care.  “You are the last of the Peverells, the last of my chosen Wizards.  You collected all my Hallows, and yet never sought them.  And you who cast them away, breaking and burning the wand, turning the stone to powder, only keeping the last, the Cloak that was handed down from father-to-son, for your own.”  There was no mistaking it, Death was proud of him.  Proud and entertained, unless Harry’s instincts were off.  “There is no other I would have ever chosen – nor did I, when I gave the Three my Gifts and sent them out into the world.  I always knew it would be you, Harry.  And I’m very glad it was.”

“Omniscience…great.”  Harry said with a sigh, barely holding in an eye roll.  He was tempted to give into sarcasm but had enough self-preservation, even while mostly-dead, to refrain in the presence of a deity…of some kind.  “To recap: you met my ancestors, gave them the Hallows, all so that I would become your Master, which I never wanted to be in the first place.”  Harry held out his arms in a Here-I-Am gesture.  “Now what?”

“That is, for the first time,” Death gave him a gentle look of understanding.  “Entirely up to you, son.  Should you wish it you can return to your life, knowing that you are my Master and therefore will have a problem staying dead.  If you wish, you can summon the Hallows to you before you return.  Or you can choose to go on: either to your well-deserved rest having lived a half-life or…”

Harry knew he was going to regret this but his damned-infernal curiosity would torture him for ages if he didn’t do it.  “Or…?”

“You will never have the life you want, the life you were meant to have before Fate meddled with you, if you go back.”  Death looked unbearably pissed-off at the mention of Fate meddling.  Something to think on later, as well as what it implied about both entities? Deities?  Whatever.  A problem for another time.  “Nor can you remain in these Crossroads without becoming a wraith yourself, even the Master of Death is still human, and this is not a place for a soul such as yours.”

“Then I can go on.”  Harry said softly, voice wistful as he stared off at something only he could see.  He could almost hear the voices of his parents, of Sirius and Remus and even Severus, calling out to him.  “To my rest.”  The quirk of his lips was nothing short of bitter.  “I rather think I’ve earned that much.”

“Yes, I daresay you have.”  Death agreed easily with that much.  “You have single-handedly at times and jointly at others, saved no less than millions of lives, both magical and otherwise by your deeds.  You were a true hero in your life and have earned a hero’s rest.  However, there is another path that you might take.”  Death’s eyes gleamed with unearthly brightness for a moment.  “This is, after all, a Crossroads: there are more choices than merely forwards or back.”

“Such as?”

“I can return you to another time in your same world, with all your same knowledge and powers.”  Death waved his arms, and several trains pulled into the station, the first an inky black, the second a blinding white, the third a dove grey, and the last an emerald green.  “I can send you back to your life the very moment you were struck down, merely with a lesser wound, I can send you onwards to your rest, or,” Death’s smile was too toothsome to be comforting.  “I can send you to a place outside of the influences that have thus far guided your life.  The choice, my son, is up to you.”

“I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”  Harry admitted with a sigh, Death nodding and the white train disappearing.  “I’m tired of playing their hero.”  He thought for a moment and gave a sneer.  “And as tempting as it is to go back to another time in my own world, to change things, make them better,” he snorted.  “I’ve already bled enough for them; why should they have any more of me?”

“Why, indeed?”  Death asked lowly, waving an arm and the black train fading away.

Honestly, the deity hadn’t been sure if this Harry would choose to go back and “fix-it” as many other Harrys have.  After all, as quantum cosmology put it: everything that can happen will happen in opposite and parallel universes.  This is merely the first time this Harry has stood before him and they’ve had a version of this same conversation.

Though granted when you thought of it that way, this was the first time this Death has done so as well.

It was enough to give a deity a headache…if deities got headaches.

“Which only leaves the question:” Harry said to himself, staring at the two trains.  “Do I rest, or do I bite the apple that’s been offered to tempt me?”

“It isn’t poisoned; I can reassure you of that much.”  Death smirked.  “But neither is that choice without struggle or conflict.  Choosing to step outside of our influences will lose you your inability to stay dead for one: where you go I would not be able to extend my grasp.  But at the same time, Fate won’t be able to toy with you any longer: you will also be outside of Her reach.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“I can give you the information about that world you’ll need to survive the first thirty days.”  Death folded his arms in front of his chest, a knowing arch to his brow.  “Anything outside of that, you’ll have to bargain for: Death may be neutral, and you my Master, but there are rules to such things that even we cannot disobey.”

“You said I can summon the remains of the Hallows.”  Harry lit on what Death meant almost immediately.  “What can I ask for in exchange for returning them to you?”

“The Wand was a weapon to best all others.”  Death intoned solemnly, a chilling reverb in his voice.  “I can supply you with one that with practice and work will be the same.  The Stone was designed to recall a loved one from Me: I can bless you with similar ability – to a point.  And the Cloak when mastered and used wisely could hide anyone from even Me: I can grant you the skill to do the same in your new home.”

“A weapon, a panacea, and a skill.”  Harry summed up, turning it over and over in his mind.  “What about my other things?  Can I have any of them in my new life?”

“I cannot touch that that isn’t yours alone.”  Death said slowly, thinking of how best to word his answer.  “But there will be things I can send along with you as part of your ‘grace period’ as it were.”

“What isn’t mine alone…hmm…”  Harry pondered that.  “The contents of my trust vault and my personal work vault then.”  He decided fit the bill.  “Only in a bottomless trunk or bag from my vault and made into a form that won’t draw attention.  My clothes, say all my Hit Wizard uniforms save for my dress uniform that I’ll be buried in, and my boots.  My personal potions store.  Everything else I suppose all belongs to Teddy now…or was my own inheritance and not strictly mine.”

“It shall be as you ask, if a new home is the choice you make.”  Death agreed with a regal incline of his head.  “Save for things that cannot or will not function in your new home, that is.  There may be artefacts and the like that won’t work where you’re going.”

“I think we both know what I’ve decided.”  Harry drawled with a half-smile.  “I’m tired enough to want to rest, but still curious enough to take your bait.  Send me on: to a place where those that have influenced my life cannot touch me.”

“As you wish.”  Death nodded his head and the green train disappeared, leaving only the dove grey in its place to carry Harry onward.  “It shall be done: Master of Death.”  The deity looked far off for a moment and smoke and vapor started to climb from the engine’s smokestack.  “What shall your name be, Master, in your new life?”  He asked several moments later after Harry had carried through with his half of the bargain and summoned the Hallows, setting them down on the bench beside him.

“I’ve always wanted to be just Harry.”  The green-eyed wizard said with a little laugh.  “But unless I’m going back in time as well as far away, I don’t think that’ll cut it.”

“No, son.”  Death chuckled a little as he made several things materialize in his lean hands.  “It won’t.”

He handed the items over to Harry, the wizard arching a brow at the all-too-familiar black book from his family library which neither he nor anyone he’d shown it too had been able to decipher.

Next went on the plain black canvas bag, likely containing the things he’d asked for that “belonged” to him, Death tapping the small pocket on the front of the bag.

“Inside you’ll find your new identity, and information on your new powers.”  Death warned.  “Read the information I’ve provided thoroughly before you go playing with them.  A cure can quickly become a plague if it isn’t handled correctly.”

“I understand.”  Harry nodded once, sharply.  “Will I understand the information with my current level of knowledge?”

“Once I’ve given you the information you’ll need to survive and your new skill-set: yes.”  Death smirked a little.  “Though I would wager that even without it you would’ve figured it out…in time.”

“Okay then…”  Harry shrugged on the pack over top of the sheath he’d removed from the pack, comforted by the familiar weight of a sword he’d commissioned from the goblins, making sure strap of the pack wasn’t blocking the hilt of the sword and preventing a clean draw.  “Anything else?”

“Just this.”  Quick as a viper, Death reached out and pressed the palm of one hand to Harry’s forehead.

The smaller figure screamed and writhed in place as information was literally shoved into his mind, tearing through his mental barriers like tinfoil and making his nose drip blood from the strain.

“Fuck!”  He cried out as Death finally let him loose, hunching over with his hands on his knees.  “What the fuck was that?!”

“That.”  Death answered dryly as he escorted Harry over to the open door of the waiting train.  “Was what you can call an information download.  Not pleasant in the least, but effective.  You’ll survive what’s coming now.”  He waved one hand to the open doors, beckoning Harry forward.  “Or at least, you should.  Meditate while you travel, where you’re going is no little distance away…and you’ll need to be prepared for anything the moment you arrive.”

“Okay.”  Harry blew out a breath.  “Be prepared, survive, any other advice before we part ways, hopefully for a long, long time?”

“Just one:” Death said softly, the paternal mien returning.  “This life has taught you to block yourself off from others, to withhold your trust and guard your heart: and those were and are necessary skills for you to survive.  But.”  He held up a warning hand when Harry went to protest.  “But, there will come a time when you’ll need to trust to survive, and to open your heart if you want to live…and not just survive.”

Harry nodded, once, shortly, jaw clenched at the implied censure.

As if he hadn’t heard similar things before, most recently from Andromeda, over his shunning of witches and even wizards, who were brought to him in an attempt to matchmake.

“Harry Potter Black.”  He decided, ignoring the opportunity to respond to Death’s advice.  “That’ll be my name.  Harry P. Black.”

“Very well.”  Death nodded, the doors beginning to close.  “You’ll arrive a bit in the past for you, but in a new place entirely.  Have fun, my Master.”

…

Harry laughed darkly as he settled into a compartment on the moving train.  He chose _not_ to go back to his own past…and ended up in _a_ past anyway.  It had a delicious sense of symmetrical macabre to it that he enjoyed, even as he wondered and worried about some of the things Death implied – or out-right stated about his “new world.”

No magic for one – or at least – not as he understood it.

That was worrisome, making him unsure about whether his own magic would work.  Or not.  Or just a little.  Which was all somewhat moot as he didn’t have a wand anyway and he only had a few skills in his wandless repertoire.

Don’t get him wrong, they were dead useful skills to have, which was why he’d taken the time and massive effort to learn them wandless: _Epsikey, Tergeo, Stupefy, Allohomora, Accio_ , and _Windgarium Leviosa,_ none of which are necessarily high-level spells but could be learned wandless and even wordless, as he’d done.

The only other magical skills he had that could be done without a wand were his Animagus transformation and a few blood-based rituals he knew for use in warding that he had to learn to take control of his family properties as well as Grimmauld Place.

That was if using his magic didn’t fry whatever electronics he was around, as since this wasn’t a magical world he was going to, unless he was going _way_ way into the past, electronics were a given.

Sinking into his meditation to process the migraine-inducing information overload he’d gotten, Harry arched a brow at one of the first things he found: his new skill-set.

Part of being a Hit Wizard was undergoing a course with the muggle military on survivalism, as well as tracking and bringing down targets.  What he’d gotten in exchange was something the “Ghosts” he’d known would have killed for, something Harry hadn’t gotten into as he was slotted into the Hit Wizards when they were short “Tanks”, powerhouses that were mostly used to cause shock, awe, and leave a wave of destruction in their wake: _invisibility_ and the ability to use a handful of other powers that Death had been right about…he’d definitely need to train them up.  With his magical core, and proven ability to deal damage, making him into a Tank-Class Hit Wizard simply made sense over the other two classes which were Proteus-Class a kind of jack-of-all-trades that filled in the blanks between Tanks and Ghosts, and the Ghost-Class which were the lone-wolves of the Hit Wizards.  Ghosts were able to adapt to any surroundings, survive any terrain or environment, gathering intelligence or taking out threats as needed.

Needless to say, Tanks and Ghosts rarely worked together, mainly backed up by Proteus who were the bulk and the back-bone of the Hit Wizards.

Altogether, Harry would wager that there were only ever a handful of fully-trained Tanks or Ghosts in the ranks at any given time, whereas all the rest were Proteus.

Wave after wave of instinct, skills, and habits flooded his mind as the information Death gave him to ensure he’d survive the first month met and married up with the skill-set he’d bargained for, Harry suddenly just knowing that making sudden movements until he had a handle on his new abilities would be a bad idea, and that invisibility didn’t mean intangibility…meaning he could still be heard or felt if someone brushed up against him, an issue Death had accounted for by downloading Ghost training on stealth to go with his new power.

More information, closer to a whisper than a shout, told him that the universe he was going into was in the middle of an age-old battle much like the one he’d been born into: good versus evil, though much more under the radar than that of Dark and Light lords in his original home.

 “Well.”  He murmured as piece by piece his new skills and information settled into place.  “At least now I know why Death gave me a damn sword and the ability to become invisible, or heal, or throw destructive blasts.  I might very well have to use it if there’s hostiles in the area…”

…

Feeling muzzy-headed and still fighting off a migraine, Harry knew when he was close to his destination, sensing the motion of the train slowing down.

Standing and shaking his head, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to step out and into a life filled with unknown challenges – save that it was going to be a challenge, Death would’ve have given him the information, the tools and skills he had, if it was going to be an easy coast to easy street.

No, Harry chuckled, somehow a soft, easy life wasn’t ever in the cards for him.

But if he was honest with himself, that sounded boring as shit anyway.

Stretching up onto his toes, he mentally thanked restoration/nutrition potions as well as a late-teens growth spurt that he wasn’t a damn shrimp anymore.  Being stuck at well-below average height and weight for a male of European extraction would’ve sucked, especially undergoing his weapons training and physical combat training to be a Tank.  Granted, even with magical help he didn’t hit the 6’ 3” of his Alpha father or even the 6’ 1” of his godfather, but an even six-foot-flat was a lot better than the 5’ 6” he was when he faced off against Voldemort.

Magic had also helped his eating issue – or rather the involuntary eating disorder he’d gotten from years of sustained and systematic neglect and abuse – which in turn helped him pack on pounds in the form of muscle, even if he’d never be as “smooth” as a Black was supposed to be, Harry taking more after the Potter genetics from his paternal grandfather than the Black from his paternal grandmother that had been reinforced by his being blood-adopted by Sirius after his birth.

Steadying himself as the train slowed to a stop, the doors cracking open and showing a nearly-empty train station, Harry took one last look around the train and closed his eyes before stepping out into the unknown.  He walked forward, and through the door marked exit, finding himself standing in the hustle and bustle of another train station, this one an urban center.  Turning he arched a brow as the door disappeared into the wall as if it’d never been.  Glancing around with the sharp eyes of a Hit Wizard, he quickly realized he’d unconsciously activated his new invisibility upon seeing other people…which was good considering he was pretty certain he was in the middle of a non-magical area and was dressed in dragonhide with a sword on his back.

He’d need to find a place to get some rest and his bearings, he thought as he shook his head a bit at a sign that screamed: WELCOME TO SAN FRANCISCO in rainbow colors and a date of GAY PRIDE JUNE 2002...he was definitely in the past.

And, oh yeah, needed to heal from the damned _Sectumsempra_ that killed him.

It was only a deep slice or two across his upper chest now, but it still could kill him yet if he didn’t take care of it.

Thankfully, it had scabbed over enough that he wasn’t leaving a massive blood trail as he wandered through the streets of San Francisco in search of a place to rest, eventually settling for an abandoned factory that he searched for squatters or other homeless.  It wouldn’t do to out himself…and he really needed to go through his pack for his potions.  Not discovering any, he gave a relieved sigh, knowing that at least he would be safe from human dangers in his hideaway once he puts up a couple basic wards, and rolling his head on his shoulders shrugged out of the pack and sword, setting them down on a cluster of raised steel frames near the wall opposite the door.

There was a small steel trough that had collected some rain water in it, it wasn’t a large enough water source to bathe in, not that he would want to foul his drinking water anyway, and he’d need to test it for safety, but if it was safe or at least treatable, Harry thought he’d found a base for the night at least.

“Maybe now’s the time to try and train up some other wandless spells.”  He told himself as he dug out his potions supply and started sorting his other supplies.  “Well.”  He corrected himself as he closed his eyes and concentrated on becoming visible again to speed up his sorting.  “Other than the new ones Death gave me.”

Though where or how Death had even gotten the powers to give to him gave him a moment of disquiet.  Death had _altered_ something in him, Harry could feel it on a visceral level.  He hadn’t really noticed it at first, but the longer he was away from his old world and the more he adapted to the information shoved into his head, the more he became aware of it…especially since words like _demons_ and _white-lighters_ had never been part of his vocabulary before.

He knew there wouldn’t be food in his pack – and Merlin, but he was hungry – but there might be a med kit or other things that he didn’t realize were covered under the “his personal property” clause of his deal.

A nutrition potion – thanks to his paranoia over keeping a full potions stock for emergencies after living on the run for a year – took the edge off his hunger even if it didn’t sate it, allowing him to focus on his job of sorting his stuff out – and then repacking it all over again.

If it wasn’t something useful in a non-magical city – unlike the gold, silver, and bronze from his vaults which would bankroll him once he found a pawn shop – he stuffed it away in several of the bottomless pouches he’d had in his vaults and put them in the very bottom of his pack.

Semi-useful things – books, excess clothing, etc. – went into another bag on top of the useless items, while the actually of-use supplies went into a variety of the outer pockets of the pack, Harry taking the time to remove the information on his new identity he’d been given and setting it aside to review with the rest of the things in that front pocket..

One med kit found, potions taken, and bandages applied, Harry spread out his Hit-Wizard issued all-weather all-terrain sleeping bag, already knowing that he’d need to get used to always sleeping clothed and armed again, something he hadn’t done since survival training and then the Horcrux hunt before that, until he felt more at ease with this strange new world.

On top of his potions supply, and the med kit that he thought came from under his bathroom sink, Harry had found several more knives, most of which went into various places on him before the overflow went into his pack, matches, that day’s Daily Prophet (at least it would make starting a fire easier), and other small personal items like his hygiene products, Hit Wizard gear, and other odds and ends.

It wasn’t a supply meant to sustain him forever, that was for sure, and he’d have to shop first thing in the morning and try and find a store to replenish his potions supplies…if such a thing existed here like his mind insisted it did, but all in all…could be worse.

Yeah.

Definitely could be worse.

Slipping into his sleeping back after noshing down a bar of Honeydukes that had been in his emergency supplies with his Hit Wizard gear along with a granola bar and a bottle of water – thank Merlin for paranoia – Harry used a wandless _Lumos_ , the easiest wandless spell there was, to get some more light to read by, never more thankful that he didn’t need glasses after getting healed.

He started with the identity packet, quickly flipping through the information and finding a driver’s license, passport, a MI-5 ID marked R.E.D. that gave him a giggle over the “Retired: Extremely Dangerous” status, and even a bank account with a debit card that had him eyeing it considering.  The gold and metals from his vaults _had_ looked a little less than he’d expected.  A closer look at his passport explained the Social Security Card and Health Insurance cards he found, Death had given him dual citizenship between the U.K. with a birthplace of Cardiff, Wales, and the U.S.

“That was rather thoughtful of him.”  Harry mused after giving it all another glance.  He had an ungodly number of zeros behind the five on his bank account balance plus a few sacks of gold, silver, and bronze.  Death had truly been looking out for him, covering all the angles, and giving Harry a warm feeling in the process.

A warm feeling that turned ice-cold as he opened up the thin leather-bound folio that was stamped with the mark of the Hallows and got a crash-course in just _what the fuck_ Death had done to him…and how he’d given him his new powers.

It was less than pretty.

Hell – a particularly apt epithet under the circumstances – it could _barely_ be considered benign and was borderline evil…just like the powers and their source.

Or, as he should probably saw, their _Sources_.

Harry hissed under his breath as the reality of his new _reality_ broke over him.

Demons, witches, white-lighters.  Elder angels and the Source of All Evil.

All of it, and more, so much more.

The only redemption he could see from his new powers was that by putting them in Harry, it kept from creating a power rift in the delicate balance between the factions.

Harry truly felt for the three sisters – well, four if you counted the deceased sister – who had been born with a burden not unlike his own, though while he’d been shoved into the fight at eleven, at least they’d all been grown women when destiny and their powers came crashing down on them.

From what Death had written, a few months before his arrival in this place and time, the last Source of All Evil had had a longtime and faithful servant in a Seer, who foretold that if one of his former lieutenants, a half-demon turned fully human, had a child with one of the sisters that it would be a Twice-Blessed Child and one of the foremost forces of good ever born.

Evil being evil, this Source sought the power for himself…and came damn close to getting it by infecting the former demon, and trying to turn his wife evil before possessing their son…who wasn’t quite their son if he understood the ritual the Source and Seer had used to facilitate the whole thing.

It was like one of Snape’s potions recipes: a pinch of white-lighter, a dash of good witch, a healthy draught of Source of All Evil, a smidgeon of demonic essence and poof!  Instant super-baby.

The father – possessed or not – had been “vanquished”, which Harry took to mean something other than dead, while the mother went back to being a warrior for good and fighting evil with the Source and the Seer dead.

That much power wasn’t meant to be consolidated in a single being, especially when you add in that it wasn’t via natural conception.

Part of the power had dispersed naturally, the way it always does when either a being of power was killed.  Part of it returned to the Underworld to await the coronation of the next Source.  But part of it remained – or it would have – and _that_ was what Death gave to Harry.

Making him some sort of blood-adopted demon spawn.

“Just what I always wanted for my birthday, Death.”  Harry muttered under his breath, well-aware that in his current time, it wasn’t his birthday anymore.  “Satan himself for a father.  Yay.”


	2. One

** Satan’s Son **

_Author’s Note: This chapter takes place between the finale for Season 4 “Witch Way Now?” and the Season 5 opener “A Witch’s Tail.”  Everything has been canon for Charmed up to this point where it begins to diverge._

_Regarding the Source’s Heir: there is no concrete canon-confirmed explanation for who were his actual parents, what his powers were, etc. just a lot of allusions and suppositions.  His very conception was engineered by the Source of All Evil and the Seer through possessing Cole and marrying/impregnating Phoebe.  There was also never an explanation given as to what exactly was in the tonics the Seer dosed Phoebe with to “help” her cope with her half-demon baby while she was pregnant.  Most believe that the Heir was the physical product of Cole and Phoebe but the adoptive product of the Source and the Seer who overwrote (somehow) the inheritance and parentage of the child._

_That being said, I’ve taken some of what is known (which is very little) and mixed it with my own headcanon of what-the-fuck was going on with that child when it comes to what powers Harry was given by Death, which are only a fraction of what the Heir was supposed to have inherited._

_One thing I have learned is that the Source’s Heir was known to have more than a dozen powers while still in the womb with the potential to manifest dozens more once he took up the mantle of the Source and/or matured into his powers._

**Part One**

**Chapter One: Demonic Daddy Dearest**

**San Francisco, June 21 st, 2002**

The moment the sun touched the eastern horizon, Harry woke from his half-sleeping state.

Exhaustion or not, he’d read enough – and had enough “downloaded” into his head – to keep him from slipping into actual sleep.

It was no matter.

Between the Wars (Voldemort, Neo-Death Eater, and the Sunderer who actually managed to kill him where the other two had failed…after a fashion) and his work as a Hit-Wizard, it wasn’t the first time he’d done without sleep.  Meditation and Occlumency, when used correctly, could allow someone to forego sleep for days, even more than a week in the hands of a master, which Harry didn’t claim to be, unlike Snape.  Though it had a drawback.  When Harry finally allowed himself to sleep after doing without, he tended to sleep long and _hard_ , making finding an actual shelter more vital than ever.

Waking in the brisk morning air, with the trauma of the previous night clearing from both the foggy Midsummer morning and his Occlumency giving him distance from what had been done to him…both his “death” and his new reality, Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay in such a precarious situation indefinitely.

Getting up and packing the sleeping bag back away, Harry took several long drinks from the water he’d tested and treated the previous night before allowing himself to slip into his half-waking state to rest his tumultuous thoughts and best process everything that had happened.  It had a tinny taste both from the trough and the treatment bottle he carried in his emergency supplies, but it did the job of quenching his thirst nonetheless.  Shaking out his limbs, Harry moved through a simple stretching routine, not wanting to risk running into trouble with a stiff and slow body, then shed his in-your-face magical armor for something much more low-key.

Black cargos with a simple black t-shirt went on after a quick scrub down in the cold water from the trough, topped with a simple royal-blue zip-up hoodie.  He checked his bandages, pleased to see that his healing potions and rest had taken care of the worst of the remaining slashes.  In a day or two with some salve, all he’d have to show for the fatal blow would be a simple scar.  Back on went his gunmetal-grey horntail-hide boots and gloves, with it being modern society Harry was about to mix with, the grey scaled leather would be shrugged off as a fashion statement, while his other dragonhide or even basilisk hide pieces like his overrobe or trousers would draw much more attention from the unknowing public…and possibly even more in turn from those who might _recognize_ the type of material they were made from.

Harry settled for stowing away his sword and the majority of his knives for smaller pieces – mostly – that were easily concealed with the exception of the larger daggers hidden in his boots and the small of his back.

His old identity went into his pack as well, tucked down in the bottom.  He replaced his Hit Wizard and Ministry ID’s with those provided by Death, with his new debit card replacing a tube pass.  All he left of his old life in his dyed-black and grey basilisk hide wallet once he was done was a single picture of Teddy from when he was an unsteady two-year-old still learning how to control his changing powers.  It was a rare muggle picture, with Teddy smiling a gap-toothed toddler’s smile and showing off bright blue hair with emerald eyes he’d copied from his godfather.

The wallet was enchanted, like many of his remaining belongings, to be uninteresting to others save when Harry himself was using them.  For example, a shop clerk would notice Harry’s wallet, but only when it was in his hand and he was paying for goods or services.  Handy bit of goblin magic, that.

As it was, Harry’s sense of all things magical told him that the day was Midsummer, and he was in dire need of a few herbs, some early-summer flowers and fruits, and a draft of summer ale for a simple one-man ceremony before he dove back into making heads or tails of his new world – and his new powers.

An _Accio_ had a fat candle coming into his hand, matches as well, which he tucked into the expanded pockets on his sweatshirt, then shouldered his bag and took down the simple wards he’d tossed up the night before around his little corner of this new universe and city.

He had a few items to procure and a park or some-such spot to find to greet the Sun.

…

Leo Wyatt, husband of Piper Halliwell, father of their unborn child, and whitelighter to the Charmed ones, orbed down from “Up There” with news he wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed about or intrigued by.

One thing he _did_ know however, was that it came at an excellent time.

His girls, following the tragedy of Phoebe’s lost son, broken heart, and trapped-in-the-wastelands husband, _needed_ something to distract them.

All of them did, even him.

But Phoebe most of all.

And there was nothing that distracted the Charmed Ones better than a mystery revolving around a possible innocent.

Though whether said possible innocent was in actual danger or not remained to be seen.

“Hey, honey.”  Piper greeted him with a kiss and a bright smile, glowing with happiness and that singular luminance that surrounded expecting mothers the world over throughout time.  “You’re back early.  Something wrong?”

It was strange for the Elders to send her husband back early from _up there_.  Usually it only happened when they called him post-attack or if they needed him to relay an urgent message.  They may have accepted their marriage and coming-child, but for many of them it was still grudgingly.  Giving her extra time with Leo when they could keep him away as long as they pleased wasn’t generally in the Elder playbook.

“They’re not sure.”  Leo told her with a softly-gusting breath.  “I need to talk to all three of you about it.  Where’s your sisters?”

“Paige should be over anytime.”  Piper told him, searching his face for signs of how problematic this new situation might be.  “But Phebes is upstairs.”

Still or again, depending on how you looked at it.

Despite her protestations, none of them believed that the now-widowed former Queen of the Underworld was dealing with Cole’s Vanquishing and being used as an incubator for the Source’s Heir as well as she tried to convince everyone.  Including herself.  Though the situation had proven one thing to the Elders at least:

The Essence that infected the Source of All Evil _did_ take on aspects of its possessed host, and was limited in many ways to the powers of said host.

Which was excellent to know, putting to rest thousands of years of hypothesizing on the part of the Elders.

Leo simply wished it was information that hadn’t come at the cost of his sister-in-law’s happiness, husband, and unborn child.

“ _Piper?”_   The youngest Halliwell sister, Paige Matthews, called as they heard the front door open and shut.

“In here, Paige!”  Piper called back as Leo orbed away, likely to grab Phoebe if she had to guess.

Whatever was going on it must be important if Leo didn’t want to even take the time to walk up the stairs to Phebes’ room.

“Hey.”  Paige wandered in, smiling and a little out of breath from her jog up the steep San Francisco hill the Manor was perched upon.  She frowned seeing Piper seated at the table with a pitcher of sun tea and a plate of nibbles, what was usually Leo’s chair beside her pushed out.  “What’s going on?”  She asked with no little amount of trepidation.

She was new-ish to being a wicked-good-witch but she knew the signs of an impending _Talk_.

Before Piper could answer, Leo was orbing back down, a still-blanket-wrapped Phoebe in his arms who was blinking and staring around groggily as she tried to force herself awake from her impromptu nap she’d been enjoying.

Phoebe had found herself sleeping more and more recently, which was worrisome to all of them, including herself, knowing that it was a sign of worsening depression.

Leo settled her with exquisite gentleness into the pulled-out chair next to his wife, Piper setting her up with iced tea and a small plate of cookies as he rounded the table and sat on his wife’s other side, Paige taking the open seat across from the current Halliwell Matriarch.

“Okay.”  Phoebe took a deep breath after she’d sipped on some tea, the sugar and light caffeine doing their jobs of helping her wake up.  “What is it?”

 _Is it Cole_?  Was heard by everyone even though it hadn’t been said.  She’d only just contacted a lawyer to start the process of getting divorced from her “missing” husband, since being Vanquished didn’t exactly stand up in a court of law as a reason to declare a spouse dead.

And after everything they’d been through, Phoebe had no intention of staying married to a resident of the demonic wasteland for the rest of her life.

No matter how much she still loved him, despite all attempts – mostly by herself – to convince her heart and mind otherwise.

“Last night the Elders detected a strong wave of power entering San Francisco.”  Leo explained, one hand twining around Piper’s.  “ _Neutral_ power.”

“Neutral power?”  Paige frowned trying to think of whether she’d ever hear of that before.  “I thought there was just good and demonic.”

“No.”  Phoebe corrected her softly, looking up slowly from where she’d been half-mesmerized by her tea.  “It’s not quite that simple, Paige.”

“Actually.”  Piper frowned.  “I’m with Paige, sort of.  I knew there were other things, other powers out there, but I’ve never heard of Neutral Power as a _faction_ before.”  She turned her head to look up into her husband’s bright blue eyes.  “That _is_ what I’m hearing right?”

“Yes, it is.”  Leo answered, explaining.  “Centuries ago there was a third faction in the war between good and evil.  Neutral powers which worked to keep the balance in place and keep either faction from eliminating each other.”  He cocked a half-smile.  “Needless to say, they weren’t the most popular group, but they _were_ powerful.”

“They were hunted.”  Phoebe cut to the chase, not wanting to dwell on how, why, or from _whom_ she’d gained her information, the others all rightly guessing the answer for themselves.  “To extinction though their…”  She waved one hand listlessly.  “Main tome was never recovered to the fury of more than one clan of demons and wiccans.”

“Main tome?”  Paige arched a brow in question.

“Like a Book of Shadows or Grimoire.”  Piper explained.  “The main tome of a faction is the most complete and desired among rival factions to obtain.  Like our Book of Shadows.”

“Or the main Grimoire in the Source’s Temple.”  Phoebe added softly.  “They are always protected and heavily enchanted.”

“A neutral tome is called an _aequus_.”  Leo explained.  “Latin for balanced, equitable, or fair.  The main one of that kind was known as the _Aequus Sorcérié_ and belonged, like the Grimoire or the Halliwell Book of Shadows, to the most powerful enclave of the neutral faction.  It disappeared centuries ago along with the last of that enclave.  Anymore, only a few creature species and the Avatars claim true neutrality…though the Avatars themselves are so bound to their idea of a utopian society that there’s much debate over whether they can truly claim being neutral.”

“Okay…”  Paige processed that.  “So the Elders are getting their robes in a bunch because…?”

“A neutral power doesn’t owe allegiance to either side.”  Leo continued patiently.  “They could easily work with a demon one day and a whitelighter the next.”

“And they can have powers from either side depending on their heritage, which is probably why the Elders are scared.”  Phoebe pointed out dryly.  “Some powers are neutral anyway, like the high resistance we share with demons or the ability to become immune to another’s powers.  But neutralities can use either good or evil powers without their alignment being effected.”  She rattled off, despite being uncomfortable with the information she’d gained while she’d had access to the Grimoire.

Paige had a disgruntled look on her face as what Phoebe’s explanation meant hit home.

Lucky bastards could use demonic powers – which tended to be the most damaging – without turning evil.

Then she blinked and let out a shocked gasp as what _else_ it meant hit her.

They could _steal_ powers from either side as well…without having to worry about the foreign power changing their alignment.

“Needless to say,” Leo sighed.  “The Elders are worried.  They want you to keep on the lookout and be careful.  With the Source Vanquished there’s a power vacuum in the Underworld, and with Piper pregnant…”

“There really isn’t a worse time for a likely-ancient power to come back into play.”  His wife summed up.

…

Harry munched his way through a few pieces of fruit from the complementary selection left in his new room as he bent over both the folio and the black book Death had given him.

He’d navigated through the morning rush in the city, buying what he needed then finding his way to Golden Gate park for his simple ceremony, as many others – mostly neo-pagans – were doing.  It was from one such sun worshipper that he’d gotten directions to both Chinatown, where his newly acquired information told him he was mostly likely to find an apothecary with actual potions ingredients instead of a mock-wiccan tourist trap, and to the hotel that made a much more comfortable home for him while he acclimated than an abandoned factory.  Granted, the factory had worked for the previous night, when he was half in shock from both his death and his meeting with Death – and the subsequent outcome – but Harry for all that he _could_ rough it easily also enjoyed his small indulgences.

Which had led him to the Omni Hotel, and a swipe of his debit card saw him more-than-comfortably situated in one of their best suites, complete with a plush California-King bed and a body jet shower that made the expensive indulgence more than worth it over settling for a standard room.

After all, thanks to Death’s handling of his beginning affairs in this realm, Harry could more than afford to take a suite in a grand hotel for however long it took him to decide on his next steps.

A shower and some breakfast later, and Harry was now idly snacking while trying to sort through his new information and skills.

Occlumency and meditation the night before had helped make the information integrate into his mind, but now he needed to study it more thoroughly so that he wasn’t relying _quite_ so much on his newfound instinctual knowledge as far as this new world and new _him_ were concerned.

One thing he was nearly certain of was that he was going to need a mentor of some kind to help him get a handle on his new powers.

He’d tried to light his candle earlier and nearly set an entire grove of trees aflame from the massive pillar of flames that flew from his hand.

Needless to say, he hadn’t tried to use _that_ power again.

Death hadn’t been joking when he’d told him to be careful with his new additions, since he had no idea what triggered most of them – the fire throwing thing had only worked once he’d gotten irritated and flung out his hand – he could go off with one at any time, forcing himself to maintain a placid mental state with Occlumency that was really quite uncomfortable for someone who wasn’t used to suppressing his emotions in such a way.

A second, more thorough, look through the folio had given him a brief synopsis of everything Death had implanted in him, along with vague why’s and how’s, before Harry had found a post-script nearly hidden on the final page telling him to look through the book Death had given him for more information.

Written entirely in calligraphy with illumination and illustrations on many of the thick vellum pages, Harry had stumbled into his seat at the small table with both books in his hand when he realized that not only could he read it where he’d never been able to before, but that with every moment, more and more pages made themselves known.

Flipping back to the beginning, Harry merely blinked when he saw that the title had solidified in an elegant swooping hand: _Aequus Sorcérié_ , which thanks to his implanted _gifted_ knowledge, he knew meant he had one of the foremost desired magical tomes in this world in his possession.

It _also_ confirmed that Harry _wasn’t_ the first traveler between various realms, since unless the Blacks had some sort of magical multi-dimensional summoning spell that worked on powerful enchanted artefacts like the _Aequus_ , someone had to have brought it into his home realm.

Though who, how, and why, he couldn’t even begin to guess.

“You know.”  He mused as he flipped idly through the _Aequus_.  Though whether to himself or the tome he wasn’t quite sure.  “I haven’t had much luck in my life when it came to sentient texts.  I certainly hope _you’re_ not planning on sucking out my soul to wreak havoc upon the world.”

Harry could have _sworn_ he got a sense of laughter off the damn thing, then the pages seemed to turn as if blown by a stiff breeze though there was barely a hum in the air from the air conditioning unit.

He arched a brow as he studied the pages it had opened up to.

“Okay.”  He said with feeling.  “I _really_ hope you’re not reading my mind, because one, I would have to lock you in the deepest and darkest depths of my bag, and two, that’s just creepy.”

On facing pages, minutes after he’d been thinking about needing a mentor, were on one side a much improved explanation for one of his new powers and a bi-sected page entitled “ _Neutral or Good-Leaning Demonic Entities and/or Individuals.”_   Which as it turned out was one hell of a short list, only containing two names, one of which Harry recognized.

“Flaming.”  Harry murmured, finger tracing the words as he read aloud.  “A fire-based method of teleportation utilized by upper-level demons.  Appearing and disappearing while wreathed in flames, there is no sight that strikes greater fear into a good heart than that of a Flaming demon.  Known possessors of the ability include the Source of All Evil, the Demon of Fear named Barbas, and the ancient demon Zankou.  Well.”  Harry muttered sardonically.  “Isn’t that just _cheerful_.  Like any other transportation power, all it requires is power and a determination to be elsewhere.”

Sitting back, Harry shook his head in bemusement before rising and strapping his sword to his back.

Glancing once more at the open tome, he checked the wards around the room before picking up the folio and the _Aequus_ , tucking them into the expanded pocket in his sweatshirt along with a few potions that tended towards the explosive and/or corrosive side of things.

You could never be too careful, especially when venturing into a place with the fun-sounding name of the Demonic Wasteland, where probably his best hope for a mentor was imprisoned.

If, that is, he hadn’t already been killed for his powers.

…

The sounds of flames followed by a smooth voice with more than a hint of Britain coming from behind him interrupted Cole as he was in the process of harvesting another power from the Wasteland.

It probably wasn’t the _healthiest_ of habits, killing the demonic essences of other demons and harvesting their powers, but when the witch he loved abandoned him to his fate leaving a Phoebe-sized hole in his heart to match the Belthazor-sized void in his very being… _healthy_ was asking a little much from him.

His love for her had always been one step away from obsession, as the Seer had been so _kind_ to point out to the Source when Cole’s love infected the Essence of Evil as surely as the Essence had infected Cole.

Dying for it had often seemed like an inevitability.

But never in a million years would he have thought he would have died in the manner he had, that it would be his wife who would kill him so that he would take the Source with him, or that the Source would subsume him so completely that _his_ child, _his_ son was the Source’s Heir more wholly than any other demon had been in millennia.

Evil had cost him his sanity, his wholeness, his life, his wife, and finally his son.

Evil _owed_ him.

A few powers in return didn’t seem like that big of a deal, when looked at from that perspective.

“You know that’s not a good idea.”  The voice pointed out dryly.  “Granted: you probably _should_ fill that gaping hole in your soul.  But fixing the one in your psyche probably should have taken precedence.”

“Excuse me?”  Cole asked mildly, turning with a cocked eyebrow to study whoever – or whatever, this was the Wasteland – had decided to take him to task.  The only people who had ever _dared_ do so before were the Source when he was still Belthazor, his mentor Raynor, and Phoebe.  “Do I know you?”

Cole’s memory could be a little spotty, especially the last few months of his so-called life when the Source shoved his consciousness down as deeply as the ancient power could.  It was entirely possible that Cole knew this young…man? Witch? Demon? And simply didn’t remember.  Though he could honestly say that eyes that emerald green were the kind to leave an impression…much like the rest of the male.

Shaggy black hair peaked out from the top of a blue hoodie, setting off the golden-tan skin – scarred skin, Cole’s enhanced senses noted – and emerald eyes.  He was tall, maybe as tall as Cole but maybe not, it was hard to say without standing right in front of him.  The other male had covered his strong build with a sweatshirt and cargo pants, but a trained assassin like Cole easily spotted the hidden muscles – and quite a few of them – as easily as the hidden weapons.  And the _un_ hidden weapons like the sword on the younger – Cole thought, his power _felt_ young – male.

There was something about the other, something that said Cole _should_ know him…but he didn’t.

“Not quite.”  A knowing half-smile quirked at one edge of a well-shaped mouth.  “But don’t worry.  You will.”  The emerald-eyed man squinted his eyes then shook his head with a grimace.  “They’ve right fucked you over, then, haven’t they?”

“Pardon?”  Cole’s voice turned more than a bit offended.

“Ah,” the other waved a hand.  “Not anything to worry about until you’re reembodied.”

And with that, the other had Cole’s sole and undivided attention as he silently smothered the energy ball he’d been keeping at the ready behind his back, bringing his hands forward and into view in an unspoken gesture of armistice.

“You have my attention.”

“Good.”  Harry told him, glancing around with a half-smile.  “I don’t suppose you’ve picked out a lovely cave or some-such for us to have a sit down, have you?”

Cole studied him a moment longer, then gestured for the other…male…something to follow him.  Considering that the male had appeared through flaming, and Cole had gathered only a few powers thus far, he didn’t want to _test_ the other being’s patience.  Flaming was the sole province of the most powerful upper-level demons, one even Cole as Belthazor hadn’t possessed until he’d been subverted to contain the Source’s Evil Essence.  Off the top of his head, he could only think of perhaps a handful of demons still existent who had the power to flame.  And Cole definitely wasn’t one of them, though with enough time to gather the powers of other vanquished beings he might gain it again, for himself this time, rather than through possession.

The cave Cole led his… _guest_ to was little more than a somewhat-concealed hole in the wasteland’s cliff-side, with a rough-hewn slab in the far wall that he slept upon and a dip from the ceiling that formed a shallow pool in a basin he’d crafted from a well-placed and controlled energy ball.

Cole moved to the slab-bed and sat with his normal languid ease, barely arching a brow as the other male lifted his hands and chanted a few words in what sounded like bastardized Latin.  Not understanding the words – a spell it was easy enough to assume – _didn’t_ keep Cole from realizing what he’d done.  It was some form of a privacy spell or ward, as the sounds from the wasteland were all but cut off and Cole found himself wrapped in silence for the first time since his painful landing in the wasteland.

“Impressive.”  Was all he said once the spell-weaving was finished and the other had dropped his hands, watching him ever-so-patiently from those magnificent eyes.  “For a…witch?  Demon?  Warlock?”

“A bit of this and a bit of that, actually.”  Harry cocked his head and smirked, still mentially paging through the _Aequus_ to figure out just _how_ he was going to fix his new… _mentor?  Godfather?  Demon-daddy?_   He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d commented on Cole being right worked over.  If anything he’d understated the case.  That the Charmed Ones had never tried to plug the holes that Belthazor’s vanquish had left behind…that they’d never even _realized_ what it had done to him…he shook his head.  That was a horrific series of fuck-ups he’d rant over another time.  “Not unlike yourself, especially now that you’ve started harvesting powers.  How’s that been treating you by the way?”  He arched a knowing brow.  “I see you’ve got your energy balls back.”

Cole gave a dry chuckle, allowing one to form in his hand and then extinguishing it.

“A little of this, a little of that.”  Cole matched his visitor smirk for smirk.  “Haven’t managed to reconstitute myself yet.”

“Only a matter of time.”  Harry noted as he got a better _sense_ of the powers contained in the demonic hybrid.  “A couple of months…give or take.”

“Mmhmm.”  Cole hummed under his breath, more intrigued than ever.  Whoever and whatever his guest was, they knew enough about high-level powers to know how long it took for inactive powers like reconstitution and regeneration to kick in.  Not bad for a being he’d never seen or even heard of before.  His visitor wasn’t the only one in the cave with the ability to Sense others of power.  And there was a lot of it packed into that lean frame.  “But you spoke of reembodying me…and that would make the process so much simpler instead of having to scrape by down here until my inactive powers come back online.”

“Yes, I did.”  Harry studied the hybrid carefully.  “And I’m willing to do so, as well as help you patch those holes in the very fabric of you.”  He shook his head.  “I know it was the best idea you could come up with, but with absorbing powers like you have your very _being_ looks like a tatty patchwork quilt, not exactly something that shouts of clarity of mind.”

“Which I gather,” Cole leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he threaded his hands together.  “Is what you want me for?  My mind?”  A darkness flashed behind his eyes.  “You wouldn’t happen to be after the Charmed Ones would you?”

Harry snorted.  “Not hardly.  I’ve little interest in the games Good and Evil are playing with this world.  But I’ve found myself the inheritor of some powers that a… _reliable_ ,” his mouth twitched into a near-smile at the idea of a semi-sentient book being a reliable source.  “Source has informed me you can help me with.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”  Cole stood and began prowling in circles around the lithe form that he saw was around two inches shorter than his own six-two frame, and without his bulk as well.  “And why would anyone think that a resident of the wasteland, let alone one with my _infamous_ ,” he gave a cocky grin.  “History would be willing to help you with powers that you’ve gained…”  He trailed off leadingly.

“That were bestowed upon me, actually.”  Harry said in a soft voice, not threatened in the least by the large demonic hybrid that was prowling around him in ever-tightening circles.  Harry could definitely see now, how Belthazor had been such a successful assassin, he still moves with the same natural predatory grace that Harry himself had had to work for years to gain.  “When I came to this world I was… _altered_ by the power that sent me here.  Though how thoroughly I had no idea at the time…”  His laugh was tinged with bitter irony.  “Or any idea at all really until I went to light a candle this morning for the Solstice and nearly burned a forest glade to cinders.”

Cole rocked back a bit, letting up a bit on the menace he’d started to project.  “Fire balls?”  He asked, ever more intrigued by the still-nameless male.  Those were a higher-level power, most fire-based powers were with only the electric/lightning based powers more deadly or destructive.

Harry shook his head slowly, turning towards the cave wall and feeling for the trigger he’d used that morning.  Throwing up his hand, Cole taking a step back as he had a damn good idea what the male was about to do, Harry unleashed a roaring inferno for a few moments, just long enough for the stone to scorch.  Reining it back in with some difficulty as bespoke by the sweat beading along his brow.

Turning to his audience, Harry was struck by the pain shining clearly in green eyes.

After several long moments of silence while he tried to bring his emotions back under control, Cole cleared his throat though his words still held a pained rasp when he spoke.

“I’ve…” he paused, closing his eyes and shaking his head before locking gazes green-on-green.  “I’ve only seen two beings in all my life do that: my wife and my son.”  Cole closed the distance between them in one long stride.  “I think it’s time you told me, _stranger_.”  The word was more growl than voice.  “Just who you _are_.”

Harry stood his ground, knowing full-well that he could flame away before Cole could injure him.

“Harry.”  He told him with a deep well of finality in his own voice.  “Harry Potter Black.  To be more precise:” Green challenged green once more.  “I’m the unlucky fucker who got the excess power from the vanquish of the most recent Source shoved down his throat.”  He looked away, a light blush on gold-dusted cheekbones.  “And according to what I’ve managed to find out from there…apparently I’m your son…sort of.”

Cole felt his knees buckled under him as he kept his stare locked on a face that had started to look a bit _familiar_ , though he still couldn’t see anything of Phoebe in this… _Harry_ as his ass hit the cold, hard ground.

“I think I’m going to need a bit more information than that.”  Cole finally choked out, Harry merely nodding in acquiescence as he settled down onto the ground facing the dazed demon, searching for a place to start.

...

“Wait,” Cole held up one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of the other.  They’d moved from the floor about half-way through Harry’s explanation, about at the point between _how_ he came to be in this world transitioned into the origin of his strange new powers.  At the moment they were sitting side-by-side with about a foot separating them on the slab-bed, both of their backs resting on the cave wall.  “So, what you’re telling me and expect me to believe, is that through an actual _deity_ of some sort giving you part of my son’s…what, essesnce?”

Harry gave a half-shrug half-nod at Cole’s nearly-rhetorical question.  “As far as I understand it…sort of.  The Source’s Heir wasn’t your son, or not _just_ your son.  It was as if…”  He struggled to find a way to explain in using methodology that made _sense_ in this world.  They didn’t have blood-adoption here after all.  “His _physical_ self was yours and Phoebe’s.  But his _metaphysical_ self, his soul, his powers, even his mind, all of that was changed between the potion-laced chocolates, you being possessed by the Source, and the tonics Phoebe was fed by the Seer.”  He thought a moment then added: “And in the end when the Seer actually _stole_ the Heir from Phoebe…”  He shrugged.  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that in itself overwrote at least part of him…maybe.”  Harry groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.  “It’s a fuck-ton of conjecture and supposition based on what I found in my personal resources and what Death told me.  The only way to really _know_ how much, if any, degree of relation I share with you or anyone in this world at this juncture would be to do a magical identity test…that I don’t have all the ingredients or supplies to do…and the actual notes or references the Source and Seer used to cook up the Source’s Essence a super-powered vessel.”

And all of _that_ also depended on whether the Source also used the vessel-strengthening potion Harry’d found in the _Aequus_ , which his gut was telling him the Source did…which opened up a whole new can of worms.

“All I know _for sure_.”  Harry stressed when Cole had shaken off that bleak, grieving, _dead_ look in his eyes that had come and gone periodically through his explanation.  “Is that Death made me a _balanced_ being, equal thirds split right down the middle: one third me from before, one third demonic, one third good.  What segments of _those_ balanced pieces are yours or Phoebe’s, or the milkman’s?”  He shrugged.  “Not a fucking clue.  Though, we _can_ say that the demonic third has been showing up in the powers I’ve already accessed.”

Cole nodded, standing to pace for a bit before coming out with a possible explanation.

“My son with Phoebe, prior to the circumstances manipulated by the Source and Seer, was supposed to be the most powerful force of good ever born.”  He grimaced, _some_ of the sting of losing his love and his possible son had been soothed by Harry’s presence.  Demons had to have strong familial instincts, otherwise they’d never be able to reproduce, their drives to violence and pain would have them destroying their own offspring.  Now that he wasn’t as on-guard, he was getting a distinct _pull_ towards the young man with eyes an even deeper green than his own.  Though whether it was _fatherly…_ he really couldn’t say.  But it was definitely that of demonic family, like-to-like.  Still, he was self-aware enough to know that even with Harry here, the loss of his son was something that wasn’t going to stop hurting anytime soon.  “The Seer had to suppress the Halliwell line’s dominant genetic propensity towards good to even have a shot at Source-possessed-me impregnating her.  Whatever powers you inherited from that side of you will probably take much longer to access as a result.”

Harry nodded slowly, turning that over in his mind.

He thought there might be more to it, but for the moment he’d let it rest since the subject was clearly – and rightly – painful for Cole to contemplate, let alone discuss further.

“It’ll take me a day or two to get what I need to reembody you.”  He told the hybrid, changing the subject.  “Not the least of which is a secure location to perform the ceremony.  Magic of that caliber tends to attract attention.”

“My penthouse should be empty.”  Cole told him freely, biting back another grimace.  “I doubt Phoebe wanted anything to do with it after…”  He looked off, out the cave opening and into the wasteland, anything to avoid that far-too-understanding face that looked more than a little like a Turner.  “If you’ve enough of a relation despite the odd circumstances surrounding that occurring, you’ll be able to access it, including the warded areas.  If there’s anything you need that isn’t there, there’s a shop in Chinatown that has good and neutral items…”  His smile this time was rueful.  “Anything of a _darker_ bent that isn’t at the penthouse you’ll have to hit the demonic markets for.  Do you know how to access them?”

Harry shook his head.  “If I need to hit one up, I’ll come back and get the information from you then.  Otherwise, I’d rather steer-clear of anything – good or evil – of that nature until I’ve got a better handle on just what I can or can’t do and/or survive.”

“I’m not going to take training easy on you.”  Cole warned him.  “Sort-of-my-son or not.  _Easy_ doesn’t come into the equation of demonic powers.”

The _look_ Harry leveled on him was more than a tad bit bitter with a healthy helping of resigned.

“The one thing I’ve come to learn is when it comes to me?”  He snorted.  “It doesn't have a damn thing to do with  _easy_.”

…

 


End file.
